


Ordinary Day

by allonym



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, My First Fanfic, No Romance, Self-Insert, who wouldn't want to meet the doctor?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 22:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17907248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonym/pseuds/allonym
Summary: The Doctor travels to the Universe of Ordinary Days.





	Ordinary Day

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after Waters of Mars. My very first fanfic, originally written nine years ago, before I learned self-insert stories were considered to be a Bad Thing.

It was one of those rare spring mornings in Washington D.C., neither too cold nor too hot, so Abby decided to walk the ten blocks from her apartment to the D.C. Convention Center, her backpack hanging comfortably from her shoulders. A few streets from her goal, a splash of blue caught the corner of her eye.  
  
An old-fashioned police box sat next to an alley wall, adjacent to a rundown wig shop. “FREE FOR USE OF PUBLIC” the sign said. The light on top was dim.  
  
The TARDIS. A perfect replica. It had to be some sort of publicity stunt. Abby looked carefully around. Cars whizzed by. The few people on the sidewalk on a Saturday morning paid her no mind. She was still several blocks from the Convention Center, so it seemed unlikely to be tied to the D.C. Meta-Con she was headed for. Unless maybe she had stumbled onto one of the goals of a scavenger hunt or something?  
  
She reached out and lightly pushed the door. It swung inwards, a warm orangey light spilling out. She stuck her head in.  
  
Bigger on the inside. It was bigger on the inside. Not a replica, not a trick. It was the actual console room of the TARDIS. She had seen it more than a hundred times on the TV. A grin stretched her face and she stepped into box without a second thought. Or even a first thought, for that matter.  
  
A pleasant hum filled the room, and the air smelled fresh, with just a hint of something, some type of spice maybe. She closed the door behind her and walked towards the console itself, hand outstretched. The heart of the TARDIS was alive, she knew. At some level she must be welcome here. She gently placed her hand on one of the thingamajigs on the console.  
  
“Hello,” she said. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” The quiet hum continued, and the orange light brightened. Her smile stretched wider.  
  
Footsteps echoed towards the chamber, and she froze, hand still on the console. She dared not look up, dared not hope to see. . .  
  
“What?! Who are. . .how did you get in. . .”  
  
The outraged British voice could only belong to him. The Doctor. Abby finally looked up to see him standing there. The tenth Doctor, as played by David Tennant. Except of course if this was the real TARDIS, then he must be the real. . .  
  
Her thoughts crashed to a halt as she realized he was in a bathrobe. A white plush bathrobe, like the kind people stole from hotels. The gold-stitched symbols on the front were unfamiliar, though. They looked like they might be cuneiform. He was holding a toothbrush.  
  
Even Time Lords needed to invest in personal hygiene, she supposed. She stared, examining, the wild hair, the beaky nose, the skinny length of his body swaddled in the robe. The look of total outrage on his face.  
  
Eeps.  
  
“Um, hello. I was walking by and got curious,” she said.  
  
“Well, you can keep on walking,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for visitors”  
  
His stare was unyielding, and Abby fought the impulse to run. As soon as she stepped onto the street, he’d disappear, she was certain of it. No way she could calmly back down. She gathered her scattered thoughts and stood straighter.  
  
“Well, if you didn’t want visitors, then why’d you park next to a busy street and put out a sign that says it’s free for the use of the public?” she asked, glad her voice stayed firm and matter-of-fact.  
  
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘parked’”? It’s a blue box, why do you say it’s parked?”  
  
Telling him she’d seen him park it hundreds of time on the television seemed like a very bad idea. Instead, she gestured at walls of the TARDIS pointedly. “Doesn’t look like a blue box from in here. Obviously some sort of trans-dimensional engineering. And it wasn’t here when I passed by earlier in the week, so it must have traveled from somewhere. Or somewhen.”  
  
“You’re clever, for an early twenty-first century human. You are human, aren’t you?” The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver from his bathrobe pocket and scanned her.  
  
He kept his screwdriver with him in the bath! Abby tried not to laugh. “Yes, as far as I know. My name’s Abby Andersen. But I’m not really clever, I just read a lot of science fiction.”  
  
He tilted his screwdriver and read the scan results with a hmm. “I’m the Doctor. I am really clever, and I read a lot of everything.” He slipped his screwdriver back into his pocket and just looked at her.  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” she replied. She thought about offering her hand, but didn’t want to give him the opportunity to ignore it. “What brings you here?”  
  
The Doctor glanced at the console. “The TARDIS had some very strange power fluctuations, so I decided to set down and recalibrate. But she seems back to normal now, so I’ll be off.”  
  
“What, you’re leaving without even a look around? The cherry blossoms are in peak bloom, you know.”  
  
A hint of interest sparked his face. “Cherry blossoms? Are we in Japan then?” He craned his neck to look at the monitor.  
  
“No, we’re in Washington D.C. In the Unites States of America. But the cherry trees came from Japan. And they’re lovely this year. Their blooming cycle only lasts a week, and the timing is unpredictable, so you’re not likely to catch them again.”  
  
One second, then two, then three. He scrunched up his face and tilted his head as he contemplated her suggestion. What could she offer to make him stay?  
  
“I’d be happy to give you a tour. Free of charge. And I’ll even throw in a hot dog as well. What do you say, Doctor?” she said, giving him her most winning smile.  
  
Finally, he smiled back, a great big grin. “Oh, a hot dog! It’s been ages since I’ve had a real American hot dog. Do they still have lots of preservatives?”  
  
“Yep, every molecule has been thoroughly processed. Absolutely no nutritional value, guaranteed. So what do you say?”  
  
“Oh, alright. A quick tour of the cherry blossoms. Plus a hot dog. And then I’m gone, no arguments.” He shook a finger.  
  
“No arguments.” She grinned .  
  
“Okay, wait just a tick while I change. Don’t move, and don’t touch anything.”  
  
Abby guiltily pulled her hand away from the console, and peered after him as he disappeared down the corridor. Dare she sneak after him to get a peek at the rest of the TARDIS?  
  
Almost before she could complete the thought he was back, dressed in a brown pinstripe suit. He grabbed his coat off of one of the support beams and swung it on.  
  
“Off we go then,” he said, gesturing to the door.  
  
Abby stepped out, bracing herself for the sound of the door slamming behind her, but he followed her out. He sniffed the air a few times and made a ‘hmmm’ sound in the back of his throat, but made no other comment.  
  
“This way, Doctor. Allons-y!” she said with a grin, gesturing down the street. He hesitated a beat, and then smiled back, although his eyes were grave. As they walked past the wig shop, he spun around to examine the Styrofoam heads sporting the different style wigs in the display window. He peered at them suspiciously and pulled out his sonic screwdriver to get a quick reading.  
  
“Hmm. Seems inert. I suppose that it would be too easy.”  
  
He put the sonic away and strode quickly past her, not quite running. He turned his head this way and that, examining the cars zipping by, peering at an empty store front, and then looking up at the sky. He turned around and walked backwards a few steps, looking past her at some unknown sight down the street.  
  
“What are you looking for?” she asked, craning her neck back.  
  
“Not sure. Something’s not right. Can’t put a finger on it.” He turned around again and lengthened his stride.  
  
Soon they reached Constitutional Avenue, at the point between the two wings of the National Museum of Art, and then walked onto the large swath of grass that stretched from the domed U.S. Capitol Building to the obelisk of the Washington Monument. Oversized buildings housing the various Smithsonian museums lined both sides of the open area.  
  
Abby swept her arms out, indicating the entire vicinity. “Voila, the National Mall! Confusing name, I know. People always want to know where the stores are, but it’s just museums and monuments. Although the museums all have little shops.” She smiled, waiting for his face to light up. Waiting for him to say ‘Oh, I love a little shop.’  
  
But he just looked up and down the Mall and then glanced at his watch. “The place certainly has grown over the last two hundred and eighteen years. Last time I was here, I discovered that the original layout of the boundary stones for the Federal City was an interstellar field generator. Turns out that L’Enfant was under alien control, poor man. Tom Jefferson and I managed to convince the city planning commissioners to change the design. Most tedious planet-saving effort I’ve ever made — I’d much rather face a horde of cybermen or nest of Zarassian lizards than sit through a single committee meeting. Well, come on then. I was promised a hot dog and cherry blossoms.”  
  
Abby pointed down the Mall towards the Washington Monument, and the fluffy-looking soft pink shapes at its base. “Cherry trees straight ahead. And we’re sure to pass a hot dog cart on the way.”  
  
The day had warmed up and the tourists were being disgorged from the underground Metro station, clutching their maps and clustering around the museum directory signs, planning their attack on the sights. A few locals were setting up a game of Frisbee golf in the grassy area in front of the American History museum, stabbing the ground with the metal poles holding the target baskets.  
  
Abby spotted a hot dog cart to the side. She veered off, only to see the Doctor take off in the other direction, towards the Frisbee golfers. He ran up to one of the goals, bumping against the young man planting it in the ground, and sniffed at the metal post. He ran a finger down its length and dabbed a fingertip to his tongue, making a face.  
  
“What the hell are you doing??” the young man shouted.  
  
“Sorry. It looked like a target array from a Varnovian interstellar fleet. My mistake, then. Carry on,” said the Doctor. The man just shook his head.  
  
“Come, Doctor. Hot dogs this way,” Abby called out.  
  
They made it to the hot dog stand without further incident and Abby pulled her wallet out of her backpack to buy two jumbo dogs with mustard and an orange soda. The Doctor declined a beverage. He took a large bite from his hot dog and closed his eyes, smiling with pleasure.  
  
“Perfect,” he mumbled, still chewing, “Thank you.” He swallowed, and then quickly took another large bite. Abby ate hers more sedately as they walked up the slight hill towards the cherry trees clustered at the base of the Washington monument.  
  
As they stepped beneath the branches of the closest patch of trees, a breeze swept past, causing a flurry of pink petals to flutter down. The delicate scent of the blossoms swirled around them. The Doctor looked straight up into the branches, smiling as a petal hit him on the nose.  
  
“Oh, this is rather fine,” he said.  
  
Relieved to see his admiration, Abby finished the last of her hot dog and stood beside him, looking up as well. “This particular patch of trees is my favorite. It was sent as a gift of friendship from Japan in 1965, barely twenty years after Hiroshima. How often do two nations go from mass slaughter to being the closest of allies in half a generation?”  
  
“One hundred and thirty thousand, seven hundred and forty-two times,” he answered absent-mindedly, walking right up to the trunk of a tree, examining it closely.  
  
Abby deflated. “Ah, well, it still seems amazing to me.”  
  
He turned to look at her with a smile. “Oh, but it is amazing. Truly amazing. Considering the trillions of wars across the universe, it is a rare accomplishment indeed.”  
  
He looked back at the tree, running his hand along a branch. “They seem to be happy here. Still thinking of their homeland, but they appear to be well settled in.”  
  
“Actually, the original grove in Japan was destroyed in a flood. The U.S. sent back cuttings from this group, to help re-establish the original line of trees there. Do they ever make it to space?” she asked.  
  
The Doctor turned round to study her. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact they do. Their descendents, at least. Fly out with the Spaceship Nippon, and settle on a nice temperate planet. End up evolving into a very pleasant sentient race called the Sakurans.”  
  
Abby smiled up at the tree. “That’s lovely.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” he said. “Now, what’s up this way?”  
  
“The Washington Monument, of course. And then down the hill below that is the World War II memorial. But the rest of the cherry trees are over to the left, along the Tidal Basin.”  
  
“Cherry trees seem to be in order. Let’s take a look at this memorial. Funny things can happen around memorials. All that blood and history.”  
  
The Doctor dashed up the hill past the Washington Monument, Abby close behind. As the hill curved down the other side, he paused, looking down at the twin arches and fifty-six pillars encircling a plaza with a fountain at the center.  
  
“Oh, much better. This site just screams hostile alien intervention. Let’s take a look.” He ran down the side of the hill, each stride looking like it might result in a tumble.  
  
Abby followed more carefully. By the time she reached the monument, the Doctor was running outside the ring of pillars, pausing to scan each one with his screwdriver.  
  
“Stone, stone, stone, stone! They’re all stone. Wait, there’s something by this grating.” The Doctor hunkered down at the back of the memorial, examining where it met the ground. Abby looked over his shoulder to see a carving a cartoon man, peeping over a wall.  
  
“Ah look, Kilroy was here! Cheeky devil. Terrible poker player, though. But I don’t see any sign of a malicious intent,” said the Doctor. He stood abruptly and paced back and forth, rubbing his forehead.  
  
“Something’s wrong, I can feel it. Very wrong. But nothing makes sense. I’m missing something. Something important,” he said.  
  
“What do you mean? What feels wrong?” Abby asked.  
  
He sighed. “It’s hard to explain. It’s a Time Lord thing. I can’t see specific events along my personal timeline. One of the best reasons for getting involved in things — it gets really, really boring when you know everything that has or will happen. But even when I’m a part of events, I still get a sense of things, things that are fixed, things that can change. I can feel which way the temporal wind blows, and how strong it is. I can sense patterns out of place.”  
  
“And now?” she asked.  
  
“Now, nothing. Or rather, something, everything. There’s a wrongness, but no pattern, no direction. It’s like being becalmed at sea, stuck in the doldrums. Stranded and vulnerable. Nothing to fight against. The wrongness is everywhere.”  
  
Abby looked around. “It feels like an ordinary day to me. Apart from you, that is.”  
  
“Yes, exactly! An ordinary day, that is exactly the problem,” he replied.  
  
“You never have an ordinary day?” she asked  
  
“No, I don’t. Not as such. Certainly not when the TARDIS is acting up. Pretty much assures some sort of deadly danger awaits.” He sounded very upset about the lack of invading armies or threatening spaceships.  
  
“I’m sorry, Doctor. Things tend to be quiet here. At least as far as aliens or monsters are concerned. I know it’s not what you’re used to. ” Abby felt like she was failing in her duties of a hostess.  
  
“Okay, that’s enough.” he said sharply, and Abby felt a stab of fear. “I’ve been very patient, but you clearly know more than you’re telling. Who are you?”  
  
“I’m Abby Anderson. I’m a graduate student at. . .”  
  
“How do you know me? Who are you to me?” he asked.  
  
Abby tried for a light tone. “Well, I’m not about to whisper your name in your ear, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
  
As soon as her words tumbled out, she wished them back. She thought his face was hard before, but now his eyes burned. The force of his presence was like a wall of energy; it was all she could do not to cower.  
  
His voice was very quiet. “No, I’m not worried in the least about that.”  
  
Abby winced. “I suppose I deserved that. I’m sorry Doctor. The truth is that I’ve never met you before, and probably will never meet you, apart from today. However, it’s also true that I know more than I’m saying, but I’m not sure how much I’m should tell you.”  
  
“Tell me everything.,” he replied. “You don’t get to decide what’s important.”  
  
“Okay, here’s the truth. Um, really no way to put this delicately. The truth is that in this world you’re fictional.” Abby braced herself for his reaction.  
  
“Fictional,” he said.  
  
“Yes, not real. You’re a character on a BBC program, actually. Of which I’m a big fan. At least of the new series. Still catching up to the old series.”  
  
At his disbelieving look, she thought about the materials she had in her backpack. There was one book that might help explain, but she wanted to avoid spoilers.  
  
“I can show you, if you think you’re up to it. But first, answer one question,” she said.  
  
“What is it?” he asked.  
  
“Have you ever taken the bus to San Helios?”  
  
“Yes. Fairly recently, in fact,” he answered warily.  
  
“Good, then I can show you this,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out her copy of Companions and Allies , a glossy oversized paperback with pictures and descriptions of all of the Doctor’s companions over the years, starting with his granddaughter Susan and ending with Lady Christina de Souza, who rode the bus with him to San Helios. She handed it to him.  
  
He flipped through it rapidly, his expression more grim by the millisecond. He was reading it, of course. Abby had seen him absorb whole novels in seconds.  
  
“Argh! Why didn’t you tell me this directly? I needed to know this! I have to get back to the TARDIS. I need to get back RIGHT NOW!” He tossed the book towards her, and took off running full speed back towards the Washington Monument.  
  
Abby grabbed the book out of the air and ran after him, not even pausing to put the book away. They flew past the tourists and Frisbee players. Abby thought she heard some call out, thinking they recognized the Doctor, but he didn’t pause, and neither did she.  
  
I’m running with the Doctor, she thought. Or at least chasing after the Doctor. Her backpack thumped awkwardly with each stride and she clutched the book in her hand. Her lungs burned. They exited the Mall and headed up Seventh Street, towards the convention center. And the TARDIS. He was already opening the door when she arrived. She barely squeezed in after him, and then leaned back against the doors, trying to catch her breath.  
  
“No, no, no, NO!” he shouted, running to the console. The lights were much dimmer now, more yellow than orange. He frantically flipped switches and pulled knobs and turned cranks. “She’s lost power! Argh, why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
Abby pressed against the doors in the face of his fury. “Tell you what?”  
  
“Tell me I was in an alternative universe!” he shouted. “And now it looks like I’m stuck here. TARDIS hasn’t got enough power now to leave, and there’s no way to refuel in this, this, this ordinary universe! What the hell were you thinking?”  
  
Tears pricked at Abby’s eye, but a sense of outrage bolstered her. “I guess I assumed that a high and mighty Time Lord would have enough sense to know if he had set down in an energy-draining reality. After all, the TARDIS was fine when we left.”  
  
His anger washed away, leaving his expression bleak. “So, you had nothing to do with bringing me here. You wandered in purely by coincidence?”  
  
“Yes!” she said.  
  
“And you just happened to carry around a book with details of all my friends in it?” he said, staring at the book still clutched in her hand.  
  
“No! I was on my way to a science fiction convention. There’s a rumor that some of the actors from the old shows would be there. I was hoping to get them to autograph their pictures.”  
  
A thought struck her, and Abby flipped open to the first insert, which feature a full page picture of the Doctor pointing his sonic screwdriver at the reader. “In fact, do you think you might. . .no, I suppose not.” The emptiness of his expression was worrisome. “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot for a moment you’re a real person.”  
  
“It that what I am?” he said.  
  
“You look real from where I’m standing,” she said.  
  
“And yet it appears that my whole life has been dictated by a television program.” He looked at the book in her hand with loathing.  
  
“No, no. Listen, I have no idea how your universe links to mine exactly, but there’s way more to you than we see on the screen. For all I know, your experiences are beamed straight from your universe to the writer’s imaginations. And I’m certain the writers could never make you act differently from your core values. It wouldn’t be a Doctor Who show anymore.”  
  
“But that book — it said that the Tenth Doctor actor wouldn’t be returning after the special shows were done,” he said.  
  
Abby winced. The book had a spoiler after all. “Yes, that’s true. I’m sorry. But Doctor, is that really any different from what you’ve known all along? That some things are inevitable? Is it really so horrible that the grand force behind your destiny just might be the demands of a popular BBC show?”  
  
She was rewarded with a twitch of a smile. “Makes as much sense as anything, I guess. So, when is it scheduled to happen?”  
  
She hesitated. “Um, actually it already has. Your final episode was broadcast in January. The show featuring your new incarnation debuts today — in fact there’s a special screening at the convention I was heading towards.” She checked her watch. “In about half an hour, actually.”  
  
He stared at nothing, not speaking.  
  
“You’ll be missed, you know,” she continued tentatively. “Millions of people have been in mourning here. You polled as the most popular incarnation ever. The Eleventh Doctor will have his work cut out for him.”  
  
“Well that’s something, I suppose. Hope my death was worthwhile.” He sounded grimly satisfied by the prospect.  
  
“Oh, it’s amazing. I cried like a baby. A long, dramatic death. You even have time to travel in the TARDIS and say a proper farewell to everyone, although I assumed that you had planned it out in advance.”  
  
He looked around the dim TARDIS. “Well, looks like I won’t have to worry about it now. I appear to be stuck here, in this Universe of Ordinary Days. Maybe I should just go mad right now and save myself time.”  
  
“You really can’t fix it?” she asked. “Last time you were stranded in an alternative universe, you were able to power up the TARDIS with a bit of life force.”  
  
“Yeah, gave up ten years of my life for it. Didn’t realize that this incarnation wasn’t going to last a full hundred years. And it appears I don’t have another ten years to give now. If I tried, it would kill me, and I don’t think I can regenerate in this universe. Energy’s too different.”  
  
Were the lights getting dimmer again? At least they weren’t out entirely. Abby dragged that thought out to the open. “But it’s not like the time on Pete’s world, when the lights went out entirely. There must be some reason the TARDIS seemed okay at first.”  
  
“Well, not really. Power started fluctuating as soon after materialization. That’s why I landed.”  
  
“But then it stabilized — after I came in.” Abby thought about how the TARDIS had brightened when she had first come in and spoke to it. Maybe there was something she could do. “Let me try something, Doctor. Keep your eye on the console.”  
  
Abby closed her eyes and pictured the TARDIS as she knew it from the TV show. The warmth of its light, the cheerful clangs of its controls, the iconic vworp vworp of its engines. It was as much a character of the show as the Doctor. Really, it was the heart of the show, a constant presence in the ever-swirling evolution of the series.  
  
“Yes! What are you doing? Some sort of psychic link?” There was a whir of the sonic screwdriver and Abby opened her eyes to see the Doctor aiming his sonic at her forehead and staring intently at her face. The lights of the TARDIS seemed marginally brighter.  
  
He looked at the reading on the sonic and frowned. “But you’re nothing special. Close to zero readings on the clampfort scale. Just an ordinary human brain.”  
  
“Ordinary human brain! Doctor, you of all people should know there’s no such thing. This ordinary human brain is chock full of imagination — and I’m betting that imagination is what links our two universes together. You’re clearly more than just a TV character, and I’m guessing it’s the link between your real self and the imagination of the viewers that keeps our two universes in tune. By imagining the TARDIS as she was, as she should be, I can strengthen the link to your universe. Does that make any sort of sense?”  
  
“Well, yes, I suppose so. But the TARDIS is still way too weak to travel. We’d have to amplify the link by at least a factor of two hundred or so.” He stared at her head as if looking for a socket to plug in a booster pack.  
  
“Two hundred! Is that all? I bet I can ramp it up by almost a thousand.”  
  
“Really? How?”  
  
“Just you watch, Tinkerbell. I’m sending you all the way home to Neverland. Can you program the TARDIS to automatically travel to your signal, about four blocks North, as soon as she has enough power?” she asked.  
  
“It’ll take a couple of minutes, but should be straightforward enough,” he said.  
  
“Good, then do it. Please. How much time do we have until the TARDIS runs out of power completely?”  
  
The Doctor had already punched a code into the console dial, and was aiming his screwdriver at it, letting out a quick series of sonic bursts. “Twenty-seven minutes,” he said without looking up.  
  
“Okay, this should work then. As soon as you finish up, get ready to run.” Abby swung off her backpack and set it next to the TARDIS doors. She stowed away the “companions” book and pulled out a glossy sheet of tri-folded paper that listed all the scheduled events for the convention.  
  
“Run where?” the Doctor asked, still working.  
  
Abby scanned the program of events. “To room 257 of the Convention Center. They don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be a guest of honor at the D.C. Meta-Con.”  
  
He stood up and smiled at her, a carefree grin that lifted an enormous weight from her soul. “So we’re crashing a party, are we?”  
  
She grinned like a loon right back at him. “Doctor, we ARE the party. All set?”  
  
“Just a sec,” he said, dashing round to the other side of the console to throw a lever. Oh, was he going to say it? Please…  
  
“Allons-y!” he said, and Abby laughed in pure delight. Still clutching the program, she dashed for the TARDIS doors, the Doctor close behind.  
  
Now this was running with the Doctor. One block, then two. The number of people on the sidewalk grew, and heads began to turn and stare. Some of the crowd were in costume, mostly from other science fiction shows or movies, but Abby spotted a couple of wholigans in curly wigs and long scarves. She wondered if the Doctor realized they were imitating his earlier incarnation. Most of his fans would be inside, waiting for the new series to premiere. She hoped.  
  
They ignored the stares and whispers and kept running, weaving through the crowd. Finally, they reached the gleaming white hulk of the convention center and stumbled through the glass doors. A female security guard stood a few feet in.  
  
“May I help you?” she asked.  
  
The Doctor reached in his coat pocket, but Abby waved him off. “Doctor, this is one place you won’t need your psychic paper.” There were more people in the enormous lobby and a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.  
  
“We’re here for the Meta-Con. Running late, I’m afraid. He’s a surprise guest of honor. Room 257?”  
  
“Up the escalators and to your right,” the guard replied.  
  
They headed towards the escalators only to find their way blocked by a bleached blonde girl sporting a pink T-shirt with a picture of the TARDIS on it. The Doctor read the lettering beside it in disbelief.  
  
“Chicks dig Time Lords?!” he exclaimed.  
  
“Oh, like you didn’t know,” Abby replied  
  
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!” the girl shrieked. “It’s you, it’s really you. Oh god, can I touch your hair?” Other fans, emboldened by the girl’s action, began to close in.  
  
“No!” said Abby, stepping in front the Doctor and moving the girl aside with a bit more force than needed. “Please clear the way, we need to get to the screening.” She looked at her watch. Five minutes until the screening was scheduled to begin. She grabbed the Doctor’s hand and hurried up the escalator. As they climbed, she looked back at his face. His expression was equal parts bemused and self-satisfied.  
  
“Oh, don’t look so smug, Doctor. The TARDIS deserves most of the credit. Women always fall for the guy with the best ride. Come on!”  
  
They were almost to the screening room when the Doctor skidded to a halt. A full-sized Dalek was waiting beside the registration table. The doors to room 257 were closed.  
  
“Don’t worry Doctor, it’s just a prop.” Abby thudded the Dalek, which made a reassuring hollow sound.  
  
The girl at the table interrupted, “I’m sorry, but the screening for the new Doctor episode is sold out. . .hey, aren’t you that other guy?”  
  
Obviously not a fan. “Yes, he is, and he’s the pre-screening entertainment,” said Abby, walking past the girl and throwing open the doors. Room 257 turned out to be a large auditorium, with every seat filled. A young man in a T-shirt and jeans holding a microphone stood on the stage in front of a giant screen.  
  
“Okay, now who’s ready to see the new Doctor?” the young man shouted, and the crowd cheered.  
  
Abby grabbed the Doctor’s hand and pulled him along, running up the aisle. “Wait! Wait!” she shouted. The emcee stared at them in confusion. As they got closer and he recognized the Doctor, his face lit up.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, if that’s who I think it is, then please welcome Mr. David Tennant!” The crowd’s cheer grew deafening.  
  
Abby and the Doctor bounded up the stairs to the stage and Abby took the microphone while the emcee eagerly shook the Doctor’s hand.  
  
“Um, excuse me, please. I have something important to tell you. Could everyone be quiet a moment?” said Abby into the microphone. The audience took no notice of her and kept shouting their heads off, cameras flashing. The Doctor put his fingers in his mouth and let out a long piercing whistle. It went on and on until the audience finally calmed down.  
  
“Thank you. Now, here’s the deal. This man is not David Tennant. He is the actual tenth Doctor, arrived here from a parallel universe. The TARDIS is losing power fast, and he’s needs our help.”  
  
The Doctor smiled and waved a bit awkwardly.  
  
The audience began to murmur, and Abby spoke quickly to keep them under control. “Now, about half of you think this is a joke, or a clever publicity stunt. All I’m asking you guys to do is play along, and I promise you’ll get to see some really cool special effects.” She had all their attention now.  
  
“The other half of you are the ones I’m really counting on. You’re the ones that know in your heart of hearts that the Doctor is real, that this wonderful man is truly out there every day fighting monsters and saving the universe. That he has a time machine that is bigger on the inside and can travel through all of time and space.” She scanned the sea of faces before her, making eye contact with those she saw that hint of wonder, the willingness to believe. Okay, it was now or never.  
  
“What I’m asking you to do is to picture the TARDIS, imagine the sound of it arriving, see it standing here on stage with us. The combined energy of your belief will provide enough power to bring it here, and then take the Doctor home. Doctor, ready with that signal?”  
  
The Doctor pulled out his screwdriver and held it up.  
  
“Okay, now!”  
  
He flicked the switch and the familiar sonic hum began. Abby began chanting into the microphone “TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS. . .”  
  
At the fifth chant she almost faltered, the utter ridiculousness of the whole situation suddenly hitting her. But now other voices were joining in, growing louder, and louder.  
  
“TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS. . .”  
  
The Doctor adjusted the sonic to a higher pitch, and then it was joined by the amazing vworp, vworp of the TARDIS engines.  
  
And now everyone was chanting, the whole room echoing with the sound. “TARDIS! TARDIS! TARDIS!”  
  
A flickering, on, off, on…and then it was there, right on the stage. The Doctor flicked off his screwdriver with a grin and gave her a hug. She squeezed him hard enough to feel both his heartbeats and then reluctantly stepped back, offering him the microphone, pointing toward the audience.  
  
“Thank you,” he said to the crowd. “You all are magnificent. Truly!”  
  
People jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering frantically, some even crying. The Doctor gave them a final wave and passed the microphone back to Abby, who handed it to the emcee, standing in awe beside her. He must have realized that there were no special effects. Abby followed the Doctor to the TARDIS. He unlocked the door and then turned, blocking the threshold.  
  
“I’m sorry, Abby. I can’t take you with me,” he said kindly.  
  
“I know that, Doctor. I just need my backpack.” She laughed at his expression.  
  
“Oh yes. Quite right.” He ducked inside to grab her backpack and handed it to her.  
  
She took it from him, and then handed him the program for the Meta-Con. “Something to remember us by. Good luck Doctor — we’ll be watching.”  
  
He tucked it into his coat pocket and entered the TARDIS. Just before the door closed, he stuck out his head. “Oh, and thanks for the hot dog!”  
  
“My pleasure,” she said, but the door was already closed. She took a step back as the light on top of the TARDIS flashed and the engines started again. A breeze swirled round her and the blue box flickered out of sight.  
  
*******  
The lights inside the TARDIS brightened and the Doctor shook his head to clear it. A Memory tumbled into a Might’ve Been, swiftly crashed into a Never Was, and then evaporated as a Never Could Be. The control room shuddered and he grabbed hold of the panel, fighting the worst case of temporal vertigo he’d had in ages. He was left with nothing but the faint smell of hot dogs and blossoms, and a ringing in his ears.  
  
No, not ringing, but singing. An Oodsong, reaching out to him across time and space, calling him to the Oodsphere. Amazing. How did they learn to do that? Progressing from slave race to trans-temporal intergalactic choir. How wonderful! He had done that, had helped them do that. He and Donna, of course. He wished he could tell her about it.  
  
His smile faded. No question of why the Ood were calling him. His song was ending, they had told him. A true prophecy, he could feel it in his hearts. He might as well get it over with.  
  
He pulled off his coat (and when had he put it on? nevermind) and threw it over a support beam. A piece of glossy paper fell out of a pocket. He picked it up — it looked like a schedule of sorts, the type they print out for a festival. Except instead of the names of the different events, the paper was filled with the same two words, printed over and over again.  
  
“What the blazes is a canon filter?” he asked out loud, but of course no one answered.  
  
He shrugged and pulled out a trunk where he filed all his “I” items, and put the paper in with the other impossible things. Luckily it was a big trunk. He stared down at it a moment, and then closed the lid.  
  
Okay, time to go to the Ood Sphere. No way around it. He didn’t know — couldn’t know — the specifics of his personal timeline, but he could still sense a major Fixed Event on the horizon. At least it would wash away the remaining temporal vertigo. Nothing like mortal danger to sharpen the timelines.  
  
Then again, that particular timeline was already too sharp. He really didn’t feel like cutting himself on it, not yet. He looked over again at the “I” trunk. Fixed Event be damned. The end of his song might already be written, but no reason he couldn’t weave in a few more stanzas before the ending. Maybe he could even sneak in a bawdy limerick while he was at it.  
  
“Once more ‘round the universe?” he called out, and the TARDIS hummed in response. Ha! Maybe she wasn’t ready for his song to end yet either. He set the controls to random and threw the main levers.  
  
The Ood would just have to wait.  



End file.
